


We Would Like to Date You

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, courting, spoiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: They came together slowly, their relationship building in steps. And still, it took Stiles by surprise.





	We Would Like to Date You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [platypusesrneat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypusesrneat/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY -- I have literally _given up on writing this story_ so here you go. 
> 
> beta’d by Sohama!

Stiles was getting a little annoyed. 

They were at a ‘pack night’, something Derek had hesitantly told them all was something his family used to do. An important part of being pack was the bonds they shared with one another and even Stiles, in his humanity, knew the pack bonds had been lacking. So he hadn’t protested when Derek had suggested it as something they do, to get closer with one another.

It was kind of fun, actually. He enjoyed spending time with the pack outside of fighting for their lives. He had never expected to get along with  _ Jackson Whittmore _ of all people, but, the more time they spent together, the more Stiles found he enjoyed the little found-family they had created with one another. It took them months to get there, get to a place where they could be in the same room and enjoy themselves, where they could communicate with words that didn’t cut. 

Stiles wouldn’t trade it for the world. The Alpha Pack had almost been too much for them, young and lost and thrust into a world they weren’t prepared for. The addition of the Darach had left Stiles feeling like he was drowning, overwhelmed and underprepared but—but they had come together, out of necessity more than anything, but they  _ had _ . They had dealt with the Alpha pack and the Darach and saved their parents and everything had been… not okay, Stiles wasn’t sure if things would ever again be  _ okay _ , but things had been better. 

Now, Stiles didn’t want to give up their pack,  _ his _ pack, for anything. Never before had he felt so accepted—even by people who had once hated him, had once labelled him an outcast and made his life hell for it—so at home with people who weren’t Scott or his Dad. It was why he had enthusiastically supported Derek when the Alpha asked for them to take up his family's tradition. 

At first, Stiles hadn’t expected Peter to show up, and he  _ really  _ hadn’t expected Chris Argent, but neither had been turned away. They came, they brought food, and they were accepted into the pack like everyone else. After a few weeks, Stiles found the men weren’t that bad. 

Chris had a dry humour that came out when he wasn’t focused on glaring at Scott and Isaac (Stiles had no idea what was going on with them and Allison, but he was  _ so _ not getting involved) that always had Stiles doubling over. Peter’s levels of sarcasm rivalled Stiles’ own and sometimes the boy found himself shocked speechless at some things Peter would say. Stiles liked them, enjoyed having them in the pack but not… not everyone did.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole, Scott,” Stiles said, finally at the end of his rope.

“What are you talking about, Stiles?” Scott asked, turning to Stiles with a confused frown that just furthered to annoy him.

“I get that you don’t like him, but you could tone down some of the Peter-hate?” Stiles asked, headache already forming behind his eyes.

“But Stiles, he-”

“Has done nothing wrong since he came back from the dead,” Stiles interrupted, and he stared Scott down. He was aware of the rest of the pack watching him, but he didn’t care.

For far too long Scott had gotten away with insulting Peter during pack get togethers without the other man saying a thing. Scott often voiced his dislike, and he made it clear that he didn’t think Peter was welcome with the rest of them. 

“He isn’t a good man, Stiles,” Scott argued, going as far as to stand from his seat on the couch

“Well, luckily, you don’t get to decide who is or isn’t a part of this pack. And, if you don’t like who our Alpha approves of, I don’t think you’ll be welcome for much longer,” Stiles knew it was a risk even as he said it, but he couldn’t let Scott’s behaviour go on.

When Stiles looked over at Derek, though, he was glad to see his fears were unfounded. Derek was nodding his head, eyes burning with power and as he stared Scott down. Scott sat back down and turned away. Stiles knew Scott was pouting, and although he was unimpressed he said nothing further.

When Stiles got up to leave, hours later, he caught Peter’s eye and the wolf smiled at him.

* * *

Stiles was cold. Scratch that, he was  _ freezing _ . They were hunting down a  _ Yeti _ —god, what the hell had Stiles’ life become—and the creature’s magic had covered a section of the preserve in ice and snow. Stiles thought it was beyond interesting how the Yeti could manipulate its environment to match its needs, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the talent.

Stiles was not made for the cold. He had no supernatural heating factor and his teeth were clanking against each other with how hard he was shivering. His toes and fingers had long ago gone numb and all he wanted to do was go home, take a hot, hot shower and curl up in his bed. 

It sounded like an excellent time and it was only the thought of a warm shower and his extra duvet that kept him going. The pack was unaffected as they all walked around him—even Chris and Allison were warm in their special hunting clothes, which no one thought to lend him—and Stiles made sure to glare at them all from the corner of his eye.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked, blinking slowly at the jacket Peter was holding out for him.

“What do you think it is, Stiles?” Peter asked back, a high arch to his eyebrow as he looked at Stiles like he was an idiot—which, well it was cold, it wasn’t Stiles’ fault if he was acting stupid.

“Take the jacket,” Peter said, demanded really, and Stiles did—if only because he was too cold to argue.

“I would have been just fine without it,” Stiles said under his breath though he let out a long sigh. 

The jacket was well insulated and, already, Stiles’ own body heat was working to keep him warm. He threw the hood over his head and pulled the string tight around his neck until he was securely bundled up, and he sent Peter a smile from his hiding spot inside his hood.

* * *

“Chris!” Stiles called, jogging across the street—only remembering to look for cars after he had stepped off the sidewalk.

“Stiles,” Chris said, closing his car door and turning to Stiles, face drawn into a confused frown at what Stiles could be doing in his driveway.

“Hey,” Stiles said with a grin.

“Can I help you with something? I believe Allison is out right now,” Chris asked, but Stiles shook his head.

“Thanks for helping us with that Wendigo,” Stiles said, holding up a baking tray. “Allison said you liked brownies, so, here!”

The Wendigo incident had been bad. Stiles… almost hadn’t made it out of the preserve. If it wasn’t for Chris getting there at the last minute—called by Peter when the pack realized they were dealing with a fucking  _ nest _ of Wendigo’s—Stiles would be dead. In fact, it had been an entire week, and he was still a little shaken by the whole thing. He hadn’t been able to sleep, not really, but he was doing better as time passed.

Considering he was only alive right now because of Chris, he had decided to do something to show his thanks. He had asked Allison her father's favourite dessert, and was more than a little distressed when she hadn’t known what it was. He hadn't stopped asking, and eventually she told him he liked brownies. Now, it may have just been to get Stiles to leave her alone, but he ran with it.

By ‘ran with it’, Stiles meant he had made brownies. Lots of brownie, though he and Erica had eaten the first two batches themselves. 

“What?” Chris asked again, blinking down at the tinfoil covered tray Stiles was still holding out.

“I made your brownies!” Stiles said again, smile growing wider.

“You made me brownies? Why?”

“Because you saved my life!” Stiles exclaimed, waving the large casserole dish he was holding in lieu of swinging his arms around. 

Chris stared at him, frown pulling at his face for a long moment. Stiles shifted his weight, feeling a little awkward as Chris continued to just stand there. Chris took the dish, finally, and Stiles smiled before bidding his thanks again, and turning away. He was in his running clothes and if he took a few extra turns, he could get a good workout in on the way home.

* * *

Stiles was exhausted. It was bone deep, the type of tired that didn’t leave you. It didn’t seem to matter how much caffeine Stiles consumed or how many naps he took. It—it would probably help if Stiles was able to sleep through the night, instead of just getting a few hours when he could.

But he didn’t have time to sleep. 

There were people dying again, worse than when the Darach was around. The body count was far higher than it had been when Jennifer/Julia was killing people, and the state the bodies showed up in was nothing short of gruesome. Whatever it was doing the killing left nothing for them to track it, either. There was never any scent left behind, no hairs or footprints for them to find the creature with.

The pack was freaking out. Since they didn’t know what the creature could possibly be, they had no idea how to move forward and stop it. 

The creature, whatever it was, was smart and brutal. It tore its victims apart, tore at their skin until it was nothing more than a shredded mess. Stiles could see the strain it was taking on Lydia, always being the first one to find them. His dad was holding up as well as he could, but Stiles feared he was going to crumble under the pressure. 

Sometimes felt like  _ he _ was going to crumble, too. 

“Go up to bed, Stiles,” Chris said, voice whisper soft in the room. 

Stiles looked away from the book he had open in his lap and blinked when he saw Chris watching him. Peter was asleep in the armchair, his head hanging limp, chin pressed into his chest. There was still a book sitting in his lap, though it had fallen closed. Peter looked soft in his sleep and Stiles took a moment to appreciate how much Peter trusted him and Chris, to have fallen asleep with them in the room.

Stiles was a little surprised he hadn’t fallen asleep himself. They had been reading for hours, desperately trying to find  _ something _ that they could use, any thread of information as to what the creature could be. He was so tired, too tired, but he didn’t want to rest until they knew what was killing people.

“Stiles, we aren’t going to solve anything tonight. Go to bed. You know which room is the spare, use it.” Chris said again, laying a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles nodded, trying to pull his thoughts into some semblance of order. He felt lost, knew he was hardly holding it together, and he didn’t have enough energy to argue any further. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath when Chris squeezed his shoulder, “Get some rest too.”

* * *

“Erica, that is my dad!” Stiles heard Allison… well, screech.

He considered turning around, not entirely sure what was waiting for him at their usual lunch table. The rest of the pack wasn’t going to be there today—well, the guys of the pack weren’t going to be there. Lydia, Kira and Malia were huddled together with Erica and Allison, and Stiles wasn’t sure how safe joining them would be.

Stiles didn't regret quitting lacrosse to take up track, not even when all the guys went to an away game and Stiles was left behind. It wasn’t like he was actually alone, either. He still had half the pack at school with him, and he loved going to track meets with Kira. It was just… weird, sometimes. He’d never had many friends—he’d had Scott and Scott had had him and for years that had been all—and now he had  _ options _ . 

Still, he sat down at the pack’s usual lunch table, only the girls around, and by the looks of things they were in the middle of a very heated conversation about  _ something _ . Allison’s face was bright red in a way that Stiles had never even seen before and Erica’s smile looked just a little too much like victory. It made Stiles nervous. 

“Stiles, we need your opinion!” Erica asked as soon as Stiles sat down, way too loud considering Stiles was right across from her.

The rest of the girls giggled and Stiles started to prepare himself for the worst, unscrewing the cap of the mini water bottles the cafe sold. “And what would that question be, Erica?”

“Well, we’re trying to decide who is hotter. Chris or Peter?” Lydia asked with a smirk. The other girls looked like they were trying not to laugh, and while Stiles knew he could play along, he had always been on for dramatics.

“That’s hard. Chris is definitely more of a rugged handsome. Classic, maybe? Better when his beard is longer, in my opinion. Peter is—well, Peter is gorgeous. And I mean, they both have amazing bodies. Chris’ is a little more impressive, though, because he’s all human. But then, have you  _ seen _ Peter’s ass? Now  _ that _ , is impressive,” Stiles said, smirking a little as the girls’ faces shifted to shock—well, except for Kira, who had seemed to know and had questioned Stiles about his sexuality during one of their runs.

“What the fuck,” Allison whispered, her and Lydia sharing a long look that Stiles’ didn’t even want to try to figure out.

“Uh, I’m bi?” Stiles said lamely, shrugging his shoulder as he shoved a handful of fries into his mouth.

“Well, what are your thoughts on Derek?” Erica asked, mouth closing from where it had been hanging open in shock, now twisting into a smirk.

“ _ Oh my God _ , have you seen his ass?”

* * *

“Let me get that,” Peter’s voice was soft in Stiles’ ear and Stiles felt the heat from Peter’s body when Peter leaned in close.

He turned his head a little, just enough to see Peter reach around him from behind and tap his credit card to pay for the coffee Stiles had just gotten himself. The cafe they were in was one of the few non-brand shops in Beacon Hills, and Stiles had a soft spot for  _ Beacon Brews _ , horrible name and all. He blinked when the barista winked at him, but he went when Peter laid a hand on the small of his back and lead him over to the end of the counter.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking back over his shoulder at Peter as the man was still a step behind him. 

“I didn’t know you came here,” Peter asked and Stiles knew a subject change when he heard one. Still, he went with it.

“Yep! This was one of my mom’s favourite places,” Stiles said softly, though he smiled through the ache in his chest. “I’m just here to do homework.”

“Well, if you don’t mind some company, I have some paperwork to get through,” Peter said and Stiles noticed the briefcase he had with him.

Figuring he could get Peter to tell him what exactly he was working on if Stiles waited long enough, he nodded his head and followed Peter to a table near the back of the shop.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, and he tilted his head to try and catch sight of Chris.

The man had already made his way back to the kitchen, so Stiles looked down at the bowl of food that had been placed in his lap. He wasn’t exactly hungry—he had eaten before heading to Peter’s—but Stiles knew that Chris made good curry.

All they were doing that day was some light research. Derek had smelt something in the preserve earlier in the week, though so far nothing had turned up. Seeing as it had been four days without them finding a body, they figured the creature wasn't evil, but they were curious to know what it was

Stiles, as the resident researcher of the Hale pack, found himself reading through old, dust riddled books more often than not. Peter had an excellent collection of tomes and supernatural texts and Chris’ own Hunter resources were nothing to be scoffed at. The two together had more than Stiles could probably ever read—so it made sense that the three of them were often paired up together. 

Stiles didn’t mind. He liked Chris, the man was nice and easy to talk to, and snarking with Peter was fun. More so, Stiles had enjoyed watching the relationship between the two men shift and change. At the beginning—when the pack had begun to shape up, come together and form true bonds with one another—Chris and Peter had been at each other’s throats. They constantly traded too-sharp barbs, hurling sly insults at one another until they devolved into shouting or—more often, the drama queen—Peter storming out. 

Now, months in, things were better. Peter and Chris had slowly come around to one another, getting over the obvious but mysterious history they shared—no way was Stiles going to be the one to ask  _ that _ question. Often time, Stiles now found them together. Whether he was stopping by Chris’ apartment or Peter’s condo, he found the two men sharing space. Stiles didn’t even find it strange that Chris was cooking in Peter’s kitchen, just shovelled a bite of chicken into his mouth.

“What do you say?” Peter teased, entering the room with his own bowl of food. It was still sometimes strange to see Peter like this—open and soft and  _ light _ , in a way he didn’t show others—and Stiles would never take that for granted.

Stiles rolled his eyes, though he tilted his head further back over the end of the couch until he could see upside-down into the kitchen, “Thank you, Chris!”

Chris didn’t answer, but his smile was more than enough.

* * *

“C’mon!” Stiles insisted, grabbing Chris’ hand to pull the man after him, walking faster toward the theatre.

Stiles was  _ excited _ . He was very, very excited. He’d been excited since Chris and Peter first told him that they had gotten tickets to the first midnight showing of _ Black Panther _ . Now, walking towards the theatre, Stiles was even more excited than he had first been. He was practically bouncing in place, pulling Chris along because he had been walking too slow.

Just a few weeks ago, they had taken him to see Justice League—after Stiles forced them to marathon all the current Marvel movies and any other relevant movie he could think of—and both men had seemed to enjoy the previous movies.

“You guys don’t seem very excited,” Stiles said with a pout, turning to walk backwards, so he could stare down at the two.

“We are very excited, sweetheart,” Peter said and Stiles flushed at the endearment. 

“Just because we’re not running ahead, doesn’t mean we don’t want to watch the movie,” Chris said, stepping a little closer to Peter now that Stiles wasn't holding his hand. Not subtle in the least.

“You better be,” Stiles said, though he slowed down to walk beside them again. It was hard to calm down when they were so close to seeing the movie, but Stiles made an effort. His smile didn’t get any smaller, though.

* * *

Stiles was excited. He was nervous, too, but mostly he was excited. He hadn’t been to the Jungle since that first, disastrous night when they had been looking for the Kanima. He had fun—as much as he could have, fearing for his life—and he had kept in touch with a few of the ‘Queens’ he had met and he was looking forward to seeing them again.

Letting Lydia dress him had been nerve-wracking, and Stiles wasn’t convinced with the results. Lydia told him he looked good, but Stiles couldn't be sure if she really meant that, or if she just wanted him to wear what she had picked out. 

Stiles had never before worn clothes so tight. His jeans clung to his ass and were cut at the knees—something none of Stiles’ other clothes had. His shirt was tighter than anything he had ever worn before and Stiles couldn’t stop pulling at it. It was a nice colour, a soft purple and Stiles no longer remembered what Lydia had called it.

He pulled into the loft’s parking lot and had to take a deep breath when he saw both Peter’s and Chris’ cars parked ahead of him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the two men to see him like this, not when he already felt so vulnerable. Stiles felt… well, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about them. 

He knew he found them both attractive, very attractive, actually. Peter was  _ gorgeous _ , and Chris was his own type of attractive. What had Stiles the most confused, though, was how  _ comfortable  _ he felt with both of them. They never made him feel anything other than at ease, and that wasn’t something Stiles got from a lot of people.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. It only made his shirt pull across his chest and his nipples were visible through the fabric. He sighed as he hunched forward again, taking the stairs to the loft two at a time. He pulled open the loft’s door with his breath held, nervous and a little scared for the reaction he would get to his outfit.

“You look very nice, Stiles,” Peter said, taking a long look over Stiles’ frame.

“Oh! Oh, uh, thank you,” Stiles said, stuttering over his words, and he could feel his cheeks heating up with a blush that had more to do with the way Peter was looking at him than the compliment he had given. 

Peter was sitting on the couch, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread wide open. Chris was in the kitchen, standing at the island with his phone in hand. 

“What is the occasion?” Chris asked and Stiles took a moment too long to answer, shocked for a moment at how the wrinkled skin around Chris’ eyes made his heart race.

“W-we’re taking Isaac out. For his Birthday,” Stiles explained and his blush deepened at the soft smile Chris sent his way.

“Is that why you’re so dressed up?” Chris asked.

“Well, we’re going to the jungle, so,” Stiles shrugged, moving into the kitchen to get a glass of water. The rest of the pack would be meeting there soon to carpool.

“And that is why you’ve dressed up?” Peter asked, though his voice had an edge to it Stiles didn’t like.

“Well, we’re going to be dancing and, ya know. It’s a club.” Stiles said, looking between Peter and Chris with confusion. 

Stiles wasn’t sure why Peter’s face closed off, but his heart dropped at seeing Peter look at him like that. They had come so far in such a short time, were friends now, good friends. Stiles had no idea what he had done wrong, what he could have said to upset Peter, but he wished to take it back.

He only felt worse when Peter walked away, though not before giving Stiles a tight-lipped smile. Stiles knew just how fake a smile it was, and his heart twisted at the sight.

“Don’t worry about him. Just have fun tonight,” Chris said, though even his voice sounded off. Stiles didn’t say anything, just nodded when Chris squeezed his shoulder, before he followed Peter up the stairs.

Stiles couldn't seem to drag up the same excited energy he had before.

* * *

Stiles was sitting in Peter’s apartment—and he was well aware that he was one of the very, very few people to know where Peter lived—and both Peter and Chris were sitting across from him. Stiles couldn’t be sure if they’d noticed how close together they had sat down, how close they always seemed to be sitting as of late, but Stiles saw it. The change in their relationship was obvious, at least to Stiles.

Peter and Chris had an easy air to them now, comfortable in each other’s space in a way they’d never been, even when their reluctant partnership became friendship. Stiles wasn’t totally sure if  _ they _ knew that things had changed between them, but when Stiles watched them together, it was impossible to miss. It made him smile, happy that the two men who’d each lost so much may have found something with one another. 

“Stiles,” Peter began, and he leaned forward after placing a hand on Chris’ thigh. “We have a—proposition for you.”

Stiles' eyes went wide, and he could feel his face heating up at the suggestion of what Peter just said. There was no way they meant—well,  _ that _ . No… no Stiles was being silly. They weren’t asking Stiles to sleep with them or, or—or nothing. They weren’t asking him anything of the sort and Stiles needed to remember that and calm down.

“We want to train you,” Chris said, his voice gruff as he stared at Stiles.

“T-train me?” Stiles’ voice was high with surprise—and a little bit of embarrassment at the thoughts he had just entertained—and he looked quickly between the two men in front of him.

“Yes, train you. We would like you to be able to take care of yourself. When the next ‘big bad’ rolls into tow-”

“I can take care of myself just fine!” Stiles protested, cutting Peter off and throwing his arms out as he shouted.

“We know,” Chris said, and he laid a hand over the one Peter still had on his thigh. “We know. But we would still like to train you. It—it would make us more comfortable.”

Stiles looked at them for a long moment as he turned the thought over in his mind. He knew he was going to say yes. When it came down to it, he was a human running with wolves, and unlike Chris, he had no special training. He knew he was at a constant disadvantage because of that, that he was the weakest member of the pack even if no one ever voiced it.

“I get what Chris would teach me,” Stiles said, and he watched as the lines in Chris’ forehead smoothed out. “But what would  _ you _ teach me?”

He turned to look at Peter as he spoke, and he raised a brow in question. Peter’s smile was too wolfish for Stiles’ liking, but he couldn’t keep the excitement off his face when Peter answered.

“I’m going to teach you magic, sweetheart,”

* * *

Stiles had never expected to excel at training, but he had. Stiles knew running daily would pay off when he first started the practice, but it was obvious just how much it had already benefited him when he had started training with Chris. He was  _ fast _ . Chris showed him how to fight in a way that used that to his advantage, and he loved it.

They trained often. Peter and Chris had been earnest in their desire to teach him, and neither of them put anything less than one hundred percent into their endeavour. Peter had started off with forcing Stiles to read and read until he never wanted to see another book. Magical theory was  _ heavy _ to absorb and Stiles often found himself exhausted after reading for a short time.

Things got better when he was able to move onto practice, though, and Stiles excelled. His spark was a bright, excitable thing inside of his chest and Stiles found it easy to control. Magic came quickly to him, and as long as Stiles didn’t ever get  _ too _ excited, he could control it without problem. 

He hadn’t expected his training with Chris to go so well, though. Stiles had already known how to handle a gun—his father was the Sheriff, Stiles had no idea why they had been surprised—and they had spent very little time going over Stiles’ ability to shoot. He had been surprised when he had taken to the self-defence lessons, though.

He had never had much control over his body. He had always been clumsy and graceless, tripping over his own feet more often than not. His limbs had always felt too-long to do much good, and he would be lying if he said he was comfortable in his body. But when he was sparing with Chris, it was like his body became his own. His arms moved exactly where he wanted them to, in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Getting tired, old man?” Stiles teased, laughing as he danced away from Chris.

“I'm just fine, brat,” Chris said with a chuckle.

More often than not, they spared in Chris’ basement. He had a padded ring to do just that, and it gave them privacy. Now, Chris was sitting on a stool off to the side, bottle of water uncapped in his hand as he took small sips. Stiles had to pull his eyes away from Chris’ neck when he tipped his head back to swallow.

“I don’t know, Grandpa, you’re looking a little sore,” Stiles teased again, keeping up with their running joke and trying to look away.

“Why don’t you help an old man and rub out some of the tension, then,” Chris said, fuck,  _ flirted _ . Well, Stiles would have been sure he was flirting, if Stiles didn't already know about Chris and Peter.

As it was, Chris was just joking around with him, and Stiles felt silly for thinking anything else. Even still, he made his way over—no way was he going to pass up the opportunity—and stood behind Chris. He took a moment to breathe before he started anything, trying to push down the nerves—and arousal—building in his stomach. 

Stiles had never massaged anyone before, and he took a deep breath. He had no idea what he would have done if Peter was with them—there was no way the wolf wouldn’t have been able to smell exactly what Stiles was thinking. He started at Chris’ shoulders, digging his thumbs into the skin where they met his neck. 

All of Chris was muscled, Stiles knew that, and his shoulders were no different. His neck wasn’t as thick as Peter’s was, but it was definitely a pleasant sight. It was tight, and Stiles continued to rub until some of the tension had eased out. He took his time, trying to picture any videos he had ever seen of someone getting a massage. He moved up and down Chris’ shoulders, focusing more on the dip where they met his neck.

He continued for long minutes, the only sounds in the room their hard breathing. Stiles was all but panting, trying his best to keep himself under control. His cock was straining in his sweats, hard as a rock and probably leaking, as fantasy after fantasy built up in his mind. But, Stiles knew better. He knew Chris was with Peter. It had become even more obvious since they had first asked him to train.

Stiles watched how they interacted, and he found it easy to see how their relationship had changed. They were softer with each other—not like when they had been friends. There was… more, to how they related to one another. They shared space as easily as they breathed and Stiles had no idea how they thought they were being subtle with how often Peter touched Chris’ neck and wrist. 

They fit together well, and Stiles wasn’t going to do anything to get between that.

“Thanks,” Chris said on an exhale, head hanging down to his chest and Stiles tried his best to breathe without hyperventilating. He let his fingers come to a stop slowly, digging his thumbs in a few last times before stepping back.

“No problem,” he managed to squeak out, before he all but ran from the basement to take care of, uh, business. 

* * *

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter said into Stiles’ ear, lips grazing the skin and Stiles had to curl his hands into fists to keep himself from jumping.

It didn’t mean he was able to stop his heartbeat from skyrocketing, nor could he stop arousal from building in his stomach. He hadn’t heard Peter enter his bedroom, but Stiles’ wards had notified him when the wolf had stepped foot on his lawn. Stiles was used to him and Chris showing up at random, but this… this was new.

“I just came from Christopher’s house, and it smelt so sweet, all because of you,” Stiles could feel Peter’s body heat along his back, the wolf’s supernatural heating warming Stiles’ entire body. 

“I don’t kn-” Stiles began, only to choke on his own words when Peter pressed their bodies flush together.

“Do not lie to me, sweet boy. You know that I’ll hear it,” Peter teased, lips once again grazing Stiles’ ear.

Stiles didn’t mean to let the moan out, but he couldn't keep it in. It felt like all he could feel, smell, fucking  _ hear _ was Peter. He had never been so close to the man before, at least not with  _ intent _ like this. Stiles had no idea what to do, and the next noise he made was as helpless as it was aroused. 

“You forgot your sweater,” Peter said as he stepped back from Stiles’ space, and the boy turned in a haze.

Peter was, in fact, holding Stiles’ hoodie. His face was split into a grin far more predatory than Stiles had ever seen before. It made him nervous, had Stiles swallowing the lump in his throat at all that look could mean.

“Have a wonderful evening, darling boy,” Peter said, backing towards Stiles window before leaping out.

Stiles was left confused and harder than he had ever been. For the second time in one night.

* * *

Stiles was pacing. Stiles was upset, and he was pacing and it was not helping one bit. He was trying his best to stay calm, to avoid freaking out, but he—he had no idea what was going on.

The pack had left him alone at the loft, despite Stiles’ protests, to battle it out with the monster of the week. And normally that would be okay—Stiles was used to be kept out of fights but running after them anyway—but Lydia had asked Stiles to stay behind, said she could feel  _ something _ and Stiles wasn’t going to push his luck. 

But Stiles could feel something too. Anxiety, mostly, but there was also a bitter tinge in the back of his throat. His magic was uneasy, restless beneath his skin and he couldn’t seem to calm it. Sparks were shooting from his fingertips as he paced, and he couldn’t shake his feelings of unease. 

The sensor beside the large, metal door flashed as someone entered the loft’s front entrance and Stiles stilled in his pacing. He stared at the door impatiently, tapping his foot as he waited for whoever it was to ride up the elevator. He held his breath as he waited, his fingers shaking with his nerves until the door slid open. 

“Fuck, fuck are you okay?” Stiles asked as he rushed to the loft’s door. 

Chris had an arm around Peter’s waist, the wolf having an arm thrown over Chris’ neck as Chris dragged him into the loft. Stiles couldn’t look away from the giant wound in Peter’s side. The wound that wasn’t healing. Stiles could see it still sluggishly bleeding, the entire side of Peter’s abdomen ripped up. Chris wasn’t injured, but he looked just as exhausted as Peter.

“What happened?” Stiles demanded, rushing over and supporting Peter from the other side.

“Did you know Griffons were real, darling? Because they are,” Peter said—or tried to say, since Stiles could hardly understand him as he choked on the words.

“Where are the others?” Stiles asked as they helped Peter onto the couch. 

“Clean up,” Peter huffed out and Stiles nodded in response. 

“Stay here,” Chris said as he turned around, just to jog out of the loft. Stiles stared after him for a moment, slowly blinking at the space Chris just left in disbelief.

“He’s going to get s-some supplies to clean this up,” Peter explained, though his voice shook as he spoke. 

“Peter, I-I don’t think you’re going to last,” Stiles said in a hushed voice. The wound in Peter’s side was worse up close, starting below his ribs and tearing down over his belly. Stiles had no idea how much blood a wolf could lose, but Peter’s skin had gone white.

Peter reached forward and Stiles grabbed at his hand, his own slick with blood, and he let out a hysterical peal of laughter. He could feel his magic jumping under his skin and his eyes stung with tears. He—he couldn’t lose Peter not when the man was one of his best friends. And there was… there was what they didn’t talk about and that wasn’t something Stiles was willing to lose out on.

He gathered his magic close, let it shine under his skin until he could feel his body hum with it. He knew his eyes were glowing bright-white even as his hands shook where he held them over Peter’s side. Stiles thought Peter tried to say something, maybe, but Stiles couldn’t make out the words. He was too busy focusing on what he was trying to do. He had a half-formed plan, and he was going with it.

His magic was bright under his skin, but he wasn’t sure this was going to work and that—that was not something he could accept. So he gathered his magic into the palm of his hands, until they were glowing with its strength, and he pushed it all at Peter. 

Stiles—Stiles believed it would work,  _ hoped _ it would, and he pushed as much power into Peter as he could. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to heal the wound or give power to Peter’s own healing, but he was imaging smooth, unblemished skin. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was working, but he could tell his magic was being used, felt the familiar tug in his chest that meant something was happening. 

He pushed harder, and he didn’t stop when Chris came running back into the loft, refused to slow down his magic when the man pressed himself along his back. Stiles gladly accepted the support and slumped back, letting Chris hold his weight as he felt his magic continue to pull at his energy. 

Stiles didn’t think about stopping, not until Peter grabbed for his hands and pulled them away from where the wound was. Stiles slumped forward when all he saw was clear skin, and he let Peter gather him close. Chris followed until Stiles was held between the two men tightly, and he gasped for air, not having noticed the burning of his lungs before.

They held him until he calmed his breathing and was able to sit back—though Chris seemed determined to stay pressed close. Stiles couldn’t get his anxiety to leave, his heart still beating too fast in his chest as he clung to Peter. Stiles didn’t want to think about how close he had come to losing him, wouldn’t think about it, and instead, he looked Peter up and down again to make sure he was okay.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Peter said, one hand cupping Stiles’ cheek before sliding around to grasp the back of his neck and tug him in.

Stiles wasn’t expecting the kiss, but he let himself get lost in it. Peter knew what he was doing and Stiles wasn’t ashamed of the noises he knew he made. It wasn’t soft, nor was it chaste, but Stiles didn’t care. He kissed Peter back just as hungrily and he got his own arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck to keep them pressed together.

When he finally pulled back for air, he only got a moment to breathe before Peter was turning Stiles’ head to the side so Chris could get a kiss of his own. This one was softer than the one with Peter had been, though no less exciting and Stiles let himself rest heavier against Chris, shifting until his shoulder was pressed into the man’s chest and he could get one hand tangled in Chris’ hair. 

“In case you still weren’t sure,” Peter said, and his lips brushed against Stiles’ neck as he did so.

“We would like to date you,” Chris finished, breath still ghosting over Stiles’ lips, and the boy smiled against him.

“Would you be agreeable to such a thing?” Peter asked and Stiles found himself laughing at the man’s ridiculousness.

Still, he nodded. 

* * *

It was hardly hours later that Stiles found himself in the loft's bathtub, Peter warm along his back even over the temperature of the water. The wolf had insisted that he help Stiles relax—his anxiety had still been high, though it had mixed with his exhaustion and made him feel nauseous.

He hadn’t expected Peter to guide him upstairs, though, had expected even less for Peter to steer them to the bathroom. He hadn’t protested when Peter began to strip him of his clothes, too exhausted from using so much magic and worn out from the panic he had felt. Stiles had no idea where Peter got a bath bomb from, but Stiles smiled when the water went pink and sparkly.

Peter was already shirtless, though Stiles’ mouth went dry when he peeled himself of his jeans. He was sure Peter wasn’t trying to make a show of it, but Stiles was enraptured. Stiles’ eyes dropped down when Peter turned back to face him—Stiles took a second to mourn the loss of Peter’s ass—and he felt his face heat up. Peter was uncut, not that Stiles was surprised, and he hung heavy between his thighs. 

His eyes shot up when Peter stepped closer to him, but the man was still smiling softly. Stiles stepped forward too, met Peter halfway and marvelled for a moment that he was  _ taller _ than the wolf. He let Peter pull him close, though, and he let Peter lead the kiss when their lips finally touched. 

It was far softer than Stiles had been expecting, though he wasn't going to complain with the way Peter was sucking on his bottom lip. He pressed closer, trying to push into the warmth of Peter’s skin as he ran his hands up and down Peter’s sides, taking a long moment to feel at the smooth, whole skin there.

“Join me?” Peter asked, and Stiles had to snort. He appreciated the sentiment, but found it rather pointless after the man had already stripped him down.

He nodded either way, and he let Peter get settled in the tub before he stepped in after him. He blushed deeper when Peter palmed his ass and the breath he let out shook. He lowered himself carefully, and he wasn’t surprised when Peter pulled him flush to his chest. Stiles leant into it, the water warm around him. The bath bomb smelt very faintly of something soft and floral, and Stiles finally noted the petals floating along the water's surface.

“Thank you,” Peter pressed the words into Stiles’ neck as he nosed at the short hairs along his nape. It caused Stiles to shiver, and he leaned back even more when Peter brought his arms around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles laced their fingers together, and let himself settle. The sound of Peter’s breathing was soothing, and the up and down motion of his chest was rocking Stiles softly. It was calming, incredibly so, and Stiles let his eyes slip shut, content to dose. 

“How are my boys doing?” Chris asked, and Stiles blinked his eyes open slowly.

Chris was leaning against the bathroom door with a soft smile. Stiles flushed—though he wasn’t sure how his face could get any redder than he already was with Peter pressed naked against his back and he ducked his head just a little. Stiles felt more aware now, and it felt like the gravity of the situation— _ sitting naked pressed all along Peter Hale _ —was only beginning to hit him.

“Don’t be shy,” Peter whispered into his ear and Stiles looked up, trying for a smile himself.

Chris laughed, walking forward until he could lean over the tub. He ran a thumb over Stiles’ cheek and Stiles tipped his head up further, accepting the kiss Chris wanted to give him. It only lasted a moment before Chris pulled back, sharing a kiss with Peter before standing up again. 

Chris began to unbutton his shirt, a smile stretching across his face as he asked, “So, is there room for a third?”

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, I hate this story. I have been writing it for the last three weeks, and it has been a rough fucking go. I'm posting it, because I wanted it to be done with so I could stop worrying about it. It was stressing me out so, so damn much. I'm not 100% pleased with it, but it's going to have to do, because I just don't have the time to deal with this anymore.
> 
> ANYWAY, I am _exhausted_ , and I want to go to bed but instead I am going out for sushi. so.
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr!!!](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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